


Beaver Motel

by jericho



Category: Canadian Music RPF, Matthew Good Band, Our Lady Peace
Genre: Canada, M/M, Musicians, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 09:04:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10331183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jericho/pseuds/jericho
Summary: A brief encounter with something real.This was written for a Canadian music slash community. The challenge was to write about two rivals who like to get naked with each other.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This was written in 2003.

"Hey, you're that guy."

This was from the pimply faced kid behind the counter at the small convenience store attached to a gas station. To the left, there were tables where people could sit down and eat their heated subs and fries spilled into little yellow paper containers. To the right, there were aisles packed with puffy bags of potato chips, tall stacks of 2 litre bottles of Pepsi, a rack of videos to rent and in the corner, tucked away into a shameful little spot, condoms. Of everything he bought, the condoms were the only thing Matt really needed. Everything else was generic and lifeless, and had the same commercial distance to it, like he was walking through a living billboard.

Matt didn't say anything, just fished some crumpled bills out of the pocket of his jeans. Please shut up, he thought, but the kid knew he was onto something.

"That singer," the kid said, snapping his fingers in Matt's direction like he expected him to dance. "Fuck, what is your name?"

"Dave Matthews." Matt looked past the kid to the highway on the other side of the smeared pane of glass, and then at his watch. He had 20 minutes to get there. Any more and Raine might assume he wasn't showing up at all. He looked back at the kid, who still wasn't moving. "I got 10 in gas."

The kid snapped to attention and rang it in, giving him the condoms in a white paper bag. He carried the can of Coke and shoved the gum in his pocket, stopping for a straw on the way out. And then he was moving. Progress.

Outside was the faint smell of oil. The sun gleamed. It turned the highway into a ribbon of steaming concrete, the sort of surface only touched by wheels and never by human hands. The blue plastic around the top of the nearby phone booth sparkled. Should he call? No. He stepped over the air hose on the way to his rental car, leaving behind the sounds of commerce in transit when he shut the door and turned the key.

Talk Talk was on the stereo. He listened to them regularly and didn't really care about anyone else's opinion on it. It was better than half of the recent music out there, which seemed flat, lifeless and without personality. Our Lady Peace had personality, but it was an annoying one. And still, that never seemed to stop him from doing this.

Everyone drove two hours for sex with someone they hated, slicing a three-night stint in Ottawa in half with some good old fashioned shame. No one was any the wiser, and all it took was some gas money, which was getting easier to come by these days. Raine picked the motel this time, as he usually did in his home province. He had the motels near suitable music venues memorized in Ontario as much as Matt did in B.C. because both had played everything but yard sales trying to put a dent in the world. This was how Matt rationalized it as he drove. They may have disliked each other but they were the same breed and just acting on instinct.

The highway was a long stretch of flat, straight two-lane road that spanned from Ottawa to Kingston. There were generic houses. A few trees. Nothing was noteworthy but clusters of little villages with names like Crosby and Morton. He passed a large prison, and when the lights were bright and profuse and the major highway straight ahead, the Beaver Motel.

The motel itself was a skinny rectangle cut into identical units. Each room had a door, a window and two parking spots. Pulling up to one of the rooms, he could already envision what it looked like inside. Bed, TV, oak dresser with a round mirror on it from the 1970s. It was all predictable, he told himself. There was no reason to be caught off guard by anything.

Even so, his heart thumped when he killed the engine and his eyes darted up to the rearview mirror. His own eyes looked back at him - large, brown, framed by black rimmed glasses. His short hair was tousled from running his fingers through it as he drove.

He shoved his hands into the pocket of his windbreaker as he headed to the door. Jeans, standard white button-down shirt well worn and untucked, like he hadn't been trying too hard. And he hadn't. He refused to worry about how attractive he appeared, because Raine could take it or leave it. Even when he banged his knuckles on the door, he did so defiantly.

There was a space of a few seconds where nothing happened, long enough for Matt to get impatient. "Let me in, fucker," he mumbled, and the door swung open.

Hushed apprehension hung in the air, a line of electric tension passing between them as their eyes met. Raine stared back at him in silence. He probably knew Matt would fill it, and Matt always did, compulsively.

"Nice name on the place," Matt said. "Do they have a per hour rate? I wonder if they charge extra for the beaver. I can only imagine what's in the vending machin...."

Raine grabbed two handfuls of Matt's jacket and yanked him forward, not relenting when Matt tripped a little on the metal strip on the floor of the door frame. The door swung shut behind them, cloaking the room in dark grey light because of the thick curtains drawn tight over the windows, and Matt felt the wall hard against his back.

"I didn't come here to listen to you talk," Raine growled, and their mouths crushed together, tongues immobilized by the force. Off to the side was the rattle from the old air conditioner dangling from the window frame. Matt grabbed the tail of Raine's shirt, tugging him closer, trying to breath against the onslaught. Raine tugged the button loose on Matt's jeans, zipper going down so quickly and haphazardly that Matt tensed. Rough hands tugged his jacket over his shoulders and down his arms. Raine always tasted warm and smelled of expensive, dark cologne, the kind worn by restaurant owners or ad executives.

Suddenly he was irritated with being crushed between a rock hard man and a wall and fought back, pushing backward with such force that Raine's legs bumped against the bed and they fell back on it. "What am I, your hooker?" Matt seethed, feeling Raine's breath hot against his neck. He parted Raine's legs with his knee in one swift movement until he had him prone and exposed, their bodies rubbing together, cocks thick and heavy from the contact.

The wrestling match continued, punctuated with grunts and white teeth sinking into soft skin. Raine flipped them over again and Matt felt the lean muscular body moving on him, deft fingers working twice as fast as his fumbling ones. He felt a blinding flash of pain when they pushed into him, then felt it ease off when Raine slowed down to a pace that was considerate and almost affectionate. There was the melting, liquid feeling of a mouth on his cock, and his groans were low and smooth against the harsh rattle of the air conditioner.

By the time Raine finally pushed into him, they were naked and sweat soaked, bodies littered with bite marks and the half moon shapes of fingernails. Matt closed his eyes and willed himself to relax, pressing his swollen lips against Raine's to smother the keening noise starting at the back of his throat. "Easy," he said through gritted teeth when Raine shoved the rest of the way in with one brutal thrust.

From that moment on, Raine was slower, each movement precise and perfectly aimed. Matt opened his bleary eyes and saw Raine's intense gaze, fixed on him even now. "Quit looking at me," he mumbled.

Raine stared at him a moment longer and then smirked, bowing his head and brushing his lips against Matt's earlobe. "You are such a bitch," he whispered with a smile. His arm hooked under one of Matt's legs, pulling him into a slightly different position. A few more hard thrusts and Matt came with one long shudder. He kept his eyes half open and watched Raine's handsome features twist and contort, and then it was over.

They lay there for a second, Matt's skinny body under an increasingly toned one. He realized that every time he saw him, Raine got a little more muscular. Matt never thought of muscular guys as being able to sing. The ceiling above was plain white, and he'd been right about the motel room. It was like any motel room. Bed, dresser, TV. Nothing ever changed.

He wrapped his arms around Raine's shoulders, keeping him in place, and rested his forehead against the damp skin at the crook of Raine's neck. He felt Raine's arms slip around him, locking them both in a tight hug. Matt closed his eyes, getting lost in the warmth, hanging on as if this body were his lifeline.

Raine pressed his lips to a spot near Matt's hairline and then near his ear. "How are you doing?" he whispered.

"Okay," Matt whispered back. "You?"

"Good." It seemed more in response to Matt's answer than providing his own, and Matt felt a set of fingers run through his hair, setting it more on end, a loving movement that made him purr.

Matt dropped his head back and loosened his grip. "Okay," he said in a normal voice. "Get the fuck off me."

Raine lifted himself off him, and the moment was over. They barely looked at each other as they moved around naked, searching for pants and shirts and then socks. Matt dressed first, rounding the foot of the bed and moving in the direction of the door while Raine was still putting on his left sock. His hand was on the doorknob when Raine finally said something.

"I guess I'll see you around."

Matt paused, looking at the painted door and over to the sign with safety instructions on it, the same one that was in almost every room he visited. "Yeah," he said, and walked out without looking back.

His legs felt wobbly on the way back to the car, his body tender and used. The sun was still bright, the cars still speeding down the highway like anonymous machines that moved on their own, and it was the same landscape that could be found anywhere. Nothing had changed in the time he'd been in there. Not even him.


End file.
